


Unity

by Ozma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozma/pseuds/Ozma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei's prophecy comes to pass; Sansa is unable to accept it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unity

**Author's Note:**

> The prompts were: Stockholm Syndrome, tainting, and possessive.

Sansa is intimately familiar with the twisting, elaborate halls of the Red Keep, yet in the chaos of Jaime’s return, they are labyrinthine and foreign.  _Queen Cersei,_ She repeats over and over, a chant, the words her sole focus and meaning of existence.  Without the Queen she is alone; without Jaime she is defenseless _._   Without either, she is nothing, little more than petal in the fiercest of storms.

Sansa knows what's happening, knows what Jaime seeks to do to her Queen – he had told her, but she hadn’t believed him serious.  He had been angry and frustrated, she had concluded after his angry declarations, and would calm later. She was mistaken.  The tears well up anew and threaten to spill down her cheeks as she evades all of those around who attempt to stop her.  The hallway outside the Queen’s chamber is empty, Jaime’s doing, and silent.  Sansa finally slows her pace, ignoring the rapid, pained breaths in her chest. As her panic subsides, it is replaced by a well of overpowering dread that speeds her heart anew.

 _No._ Is all Sansa thinks as she arrives at her destination; the door is left open, the warmth of the raging hearth seeping into the empty hall. She shakes her head repeatedly in terror as she walks into the Queen's quarters, but also feels strangely light, as if some distant part of her accepts what she will discover **.**   She closes the door behind her quietly, in respect for the room’s occupants.It takes all of her willpower to turnand, when she finally does, she freezes, unable to move or speak, the passage of time unacknowledged.  In her hysteria, Sansa’s only coherent thought is "No." _No, no, no, no, nonononono_.

She is too anxious to drop to her knees, but the violent tremor that wracks the young woman’s body when she sees her beautiful Queen's still silhouette, with hair that spills over her face, shoulders, and the floor like liquid gold, is as equally incapacitating. Sansa stumbles forward with desperation towards the appropriatelystill shapeof the Queen's companion - the man who no doubt put Cersei in her currentcondition - and his twin.  The young woman moans in despair when she finally reaches the two fallen forms, no more than a pace apart, before she finally collapses, unwilling to move a step farther, wanting nothing more than to stay beside the two people she loves most in the world.  Cersei and Jaime may be united, but they abandoned Sansa in a cold, cruel world.

Numbly, Sansapulls their weights toward her; it takes all of her strength to roll them onto their sides so that they face each other. She draws their faces close, so that the Queen and Jaime's foreheads touch and their hands rest together.  Finally satisfied, Sansa curls up between the twins and awaits her fate.

"Child." Sansa barely hears the phrase as she rests between the twins, not knowing or caring how long it has been since she entered the room.  _Leave me be._ She wants to say; if she feigns sleep, perhaps the intruder will heed her unspoken wishes.

"I know you miss them, young one, but if someone finds the Queen and Lord Commander, you know what will happen." Though she barely paid heed to the new presence only a moment before, his - Sansa can tell it's a man - words catch her attention and whispers acknowledging their truth fill her.  The young woman almost cries out in horror at the revelation; if she stays, they'll be taken away. _They'll leave her._   Newly alert and distressed, Sansa relents. She lifts her head from the floor and looks up to the strange man she knows as Cersei's guest - Qyburn, she remembers, a former-Maester who serves only the Queen.  He helped Jaime once, she was told, and the strange, kindly man serves Cersei with his arts.  Sansa glances over his plain garb with little interest; more prominent is the giant at Qyburn’s side: the armored form of the shadowy, silent man who serves the Kingsguard under the name Ser Robert Strong.

Qyburn continues only once he is certain he holds the young woman's full attention.  "If you help me, I will breathe life into her Grace and the Lord Commander once again." His words are kind and gentle, soft and respectful, yet they feel more like oil than silk.  Sansa knows she should heed her better sense, which whispers of caution and rejection, yet his words ring deeply within her core and pull insistently, drawing out her desperation.

"You can do that?"  She blinks in surprise, her voice breathy. Sansa is not quite sure she believes what he says, but any hope - no matter how small and insignificant - is better than none at all.  She knows her eyes are wide as she draws her hands away from the fallen Lannistersand clutches them to her chest.

"Yes, but we must move silently - and discreetly." Qyburn reminds her very much of Maester Luwin, with his soft words and steel intonation.  Sansa nods her agreement; ifanyone finds the Queen Regent and her brother they will be taken from her.  Instinctively, she draws closer to Jaime and holds onto Cersei’s hand even more tightly, not wanting to ever leave their sides, her body and mind in conflict.  _It's only for a moment_ , she tells herself as she pushes herself from the floor.

Ser Robert is terrifying but reliable as he lifts each of the twins up, one in each in arm, holding them close so that they are not harmed by happenstance knocks into doorways or walls.  Sansa looks away, unable to stand the sight of the two so weak, the way their limbs droop and their bodies listlessly sag – it makes her ill. The Knight walks ahead of them through the halls - he heard their conversation just as clearly as Sansa, and seems to know precisely where they are headed – and the former-Maester takes the young woman’s hand.  His wrinkled flesh is soft and his touch is soothing,but Sansa cannot stop the persistent shake of her head brought upon by her fears as she presses her eyes closed and lets herself be guided.

She barely remembers anything of the journey beyond her anguish. They travel down and down and down yet more, until the only illumination is from Qyburn's torch - Ser Robert does not seem to need any light - and the air is thick, dank, and humid.  Sansa knows when they reach their goal immediately.  They stop in a large, open room with no defining features beyond the utter darkness.  Ser Robert places the two bodies at its center surprisingly gently for a man his size, before he exits to guard the entrance, seemingly entirely apathetic to the events that are soon to follow. As soon as the Kingsguard is out of her vision, he is out of her mind, her attentions drawn towards the twins on the floor.

Sansa pulls away from her companion and rushes into the center beside the Queen and Lord Commander, ignoring all else, only subtly acknowledging how Qyburn lights the tallow throughout the room.  As she did when she first found the duo, Sansa rearranges the twins so that they touch, their heads close, their hands together.  The young woman does not care what happens, or how much time passes - the Red Keep could fall, the Others could march, and none of it would matter. All that exists is Sansa, Jaime, and Cersei as she kneels between them, her hands running over their bodies, comforting and loving them in what small way she can.

Qyburn's 'ritual,' or whatever strange ceremony he performs, is exotic, alien, and lengthy.  There are times Sansa swears she hears voices, and on one occasion a cold finger, nothing more than a disembodied shadowy chill, runs down her face and feels as if it tears her skin like a blade.  On another occasion she feels a hard grasp on her shoulder and a grope at her breasts, but as she draws her hands up to protect herself, no one is there.  The candlelight flickers, teased by some unknown wind, but Sansa just draws closer to Cersei and Jaime.  They will let no harm come to her.

"It is done." He speaks after a time.  Qyburn’s voice is satisfied, but distant and hollow, as if he resides in a different plane of existence than she.

Sansa blinks, confused, and looks to her companions with a mixture of panic and concern. There is no change. Their lips remain slightly parted, their eyes are open widely in terror, anger, and pain - but their gazes are blank and empty, their fire frozen, in its place the chilliest of ices.  Their flesh remains entirely intact, but Cersei’s neck is covered inlarge, wide bruises, so dark that it is impossible to discern the color of her skin; Jaime’s skin is pale, his clothes matted with blood. Their bodies remain loose, limp, heavy, not yet bloated, but stronger than ever is the smell. Oh Gods, the smell.

Yet the breath of life remains stolen from the twins.  Sansa turns to Qyburn, in silent demand an answer, like how Cersei taught her, but all the man does is smile, an expression so strange and dark that it takes all of her self-control to not bury her face in the Queen’s unmarred breasts.

Before she can question him further, their hands twitch in unison, their movements as identical as the soul they share.


End file.
